Man-Killer
by Arishia-chan
Summary: A Gentatsu Fic. Remember the Hitokiri that Kenshin fought in the repeated flashback in the movie? I try to shed light on this character, the events leading up to his death, and what might have happened if Gentatsu and Battousai had previously met.


Man-Killer

  


This is a tribute to my favorite character created soley for the OAV movie. Gentatsu, the guy with the funky hair, intrigued me from the very first time I saw him. All we are told of him can fit into one sentence: He fought for the Aizu clan as a Hitokiri and had a little sister named Toki. That's about it. So I decided to create more depth to him and thus this fic emerged.

I may not have my historical accounts straight. If anyone wants to argue about anything, just email me. ^_^ But I wrote this as accurate as I could. All the people mentioned in here are mentioned in the movie, except Fukuoka Tanaka, which is an original character (and he doesn't serve much purpose). Some scenes are take from the movie – if you've seen it, it's pretty obvious – and some are not.

For instance, Gentatsu never meets Kenshin until that fateful night. But here . . . well, let's just say this also gives a slight insight to Mr. Battousai.

I thought of the movie timeline (the flashback part) as being pre-Rurouni and post-Tomoe, though Tomoe isn't mentioned in my fic. Kenshin has his scar and it's only a year or so before he decides to disappear and go wandering. My main source for information was the wonderful Gentatsu shrine Forever Blue Skies. (http://www.angelfire.com/ma3/taski/blueskies/front.html) I highly recommend it.

There will be more notes after the fic. I just don't want to spoil anything. Oh, and this is my first RuroKen fic. ^_^ Hope you enjoy and any comments are welcome.

  


***

  


1886, Keiou 2, two years before the Meiji Era

I run. My thatch sandals scuff on the forest floor, loud to my ears though my feet are as light as possible. One hand grips my sheathed katana, the other arm tucked close to my body. The night is fresh, cold for Spring, and the men around me breathe silver, wispy puffs. They are some of Aizu's best, but their stealth tactics are lacking. Their sandaled feet seem to pound into the fallen bamboo leaves. It must be my own anxiety.

I am running toward battle, what I hope will become twin assassinations. But unlike the tasks I have past performed, this one could single-handedly win the war for the Shogunate. Two men are meeting tonight – one of Choshu, one of Satsuma. If I can . . .

We are nearing Suzu-ya, where my instinct tells me the meeting is taking place. I feel my heart become unsteady, not the usual nervousness that clenches me inside whenever I must kill.

No, it thuds beneath my chest because he will be there, the man – the _boy_ – whom I do not want to see. My heart stirs because of regret and sadness and helplessness. And anger.

I am running in order to die and I know it. I am his enemy . . . the boy with the frozen gold eyes . . .

***

1885, Keiou 1, six months ago

The grass is warm beneath my hands as I lean back on them. I am sitting in one of my favorite reclusive spots, a large expanse of field that opens to the sky. Winter is coming soon, but today is mostly clear and only mildly cool. I spread my fingers and the earth's warmth seeps into my skin. How nice.

"Gentatsu, there you are."

I sense it is Shigure before even looking over my shoulder. Shigure Takimi possesses a bright, lively battle spirit and is my solitary trusted friend. I hear him walk up behind me and then his knee brushes against mine as he eases himself down in a cross-legged position.

"I've been looking for you," he says, not particularly flustered. "And I thought you might be here, since I find you sitting like this so often."

I turn and look at him, offer a slight smile. "Shigure," I say wistfully. "I love the blue sky over Mt. Bandai."

"So do I," he agrees.

That sends a full smile to my lips. Shigure and I have known each other for what seems like a long time, though he is several years my better. He has never made such a comment on my sentimental notions before.

I focus back on the blue, cloud-speckled void. "The sky must be forever tall and forever clear," I tell him. "This is the way I believe the world should be."

He does not object. We sit side by side in silence and watch the clouds play over the distant mountains.

Shigure shifts and looks at me. "I came to tell you about another task tonight."

The mood is broken. I sigh inaudibly and drag my sword into my lap, its weight unwelcome, and get to my feet.

He stands with me and his eyes are concerned. "If you don't want to take it, I can get someone else–"

"I'll take it," I interject, sliding the sheath through my belts.

He nods, accepting my decision. "Come. We cannot discuss it here."

We walk toward the city of Kyoto and dip inside a small hut that we often use for such correspondence. Whenever there is a task that needs my skills, Shigure is usually the one who brings the message. As I am one of the Three Crows, these tasks appear often, and increasingly as of late.

Shigure secures the area and faces me. He is always so dedicated to what he does, and pushes toward his goals more enthusiastically than I . . . "We have a traitor among us."

The room suddenly feels cold and damp. "Who?" I get past my thick tongue.

"Fukuoka Tanaka, a fellow member of the Aizu clan . . . and a member of the Ishin Shishi."

"I know the name."

"Fukuoka has been betraying us for some time now," he says. "He had been implanted into the Ishin for informant purposes, but our sources tell us that he has also been providing information to the Ishin about our plans while at the same time doing to the same to them."

"I see." I glance outside out of habit, though no one is nearby. "And thus he has been living comfortably with the protection of both sides against each other. Where is he now?"

"He fled once his tricks were discovered." From his sleeve Shigure produces a map of the city. "He's staying in this inn until tomorrow night when his boat sails. He must be taken care of before then."

"I understand." I detect regret in his voice, but force myself to ignore it. "I am going over to see Toki this evening, if you wish to come."

He shakes his head. More regret. "Kajiki has a few commentaries we need to run through. I'm sorry."

"No matter." I tuck the map inside my gi and step out of the hut. "I will report to you in the morning."

He follows me to the alley. "Take care, Gentatsu."

"I will."

Needing no other words, we part.

***

I vaguely remember Fukuoka Tanaka – a short, plump man with no family. We had only crossed paths once and since then he had just been another soldier to me. As a Hitokiri, my relations with people outside my own group are minimal and I rarely interact with anyone except Shigure.

But I can recognize the man enough to complete my task.

They are a good foster family, the married couple that watches over my younger sister in my absence. They know who and what I am and still they pleasantly invite me into their home when I come to visit her.

Toki squeals as soon as I enter the house, and I go to one knee, letting her throw her chubby arms round my neck. She is merely three years old. Mother died during childbirth and father, consumed by grief, was killed in a fight soon after. I have raised Toki since then, but lately I find myself unable to come as often as I yearn to.

I lift her into my arms and she laughs delightfully. "Niichan!"

The old woman smiles gently. "She has missed you terribly, Takatsuki-san. It's been five weeks since you last visited."

It pains me that my duties pull me away from my sister, my only remaining family. I must try to come more often. And then I remember the upcoming holiday. "Niichan will be back soon," I promise the giggling child. I affectionately nuzzle her nose with the top of my head. She laughs as my hair tickles her. "And I will stay a whole week." I meet the woman's kind eyes. "If that is all right."

"Of course," she says. "Are you sure you can't stay longer? I can make you some dinner."

"Thank you but I must be going." I try to set Toki down and she clamps two tiny fists onto my dangling bangs.

"Niichan leavin' me!"

"I know and I'm sorry," I say gently.

She turns up sad, wet eyes, dark blue like our mother. "Don't leave."

I bend and hug her small body. "I am sorry," I say again past the lump forming in my throat. "Niichan will return before you know it." I pull out from my sleeve a little doll dressed in a blue silk kimono. Toki's face immediately lights up and she grasps the doll.

"Niichan!" she cries and crushes the doll in a tight embrace.

I pat her head and straighten. Toki has forgotten about me, and so I bow to the old woman and slip away.

Her husband is waiting in the courtyard. "Walk with me a bit?"

I nod. We come to a koi pond that is part of their piece of land. He pours a handful of feed into the clear water and the fish eagerly bubble to the surface. I watch them pensively; the pool reflects the darkening sky. A storm has moved in and thunder rumbles overhead. It will rain tonight.

After awhile, the old man speaks again. "The little one suffers more in your absence than you think."

I do not reply. The moon is reflected across the water but it is only a sliver. Tonight will also be dark.

"She needs you," he continues. His words are true but they cut deep. "We are growing old and soon it will become difficult for us to adequately raise her." His eyes are on me but I do not meet them. "We will be forced to move within the next two years. I lie awake at night and hear the swords clanging in Kyoto and men shouting and the crackling of fires." He lowers his voice so that he is not overheard. "Tell me if you can, are the clans coming to this area? Can I depend on Aizu protection?"

"Yes," I say automatically. "Aizu knows how I am indebted to you." Shigure knows. "But the war is everywhere. You are right . . . You will soon have to move." Night has fallen around us; it is almost time. "Thank you for your kindness," I tell him softly and bow appropriately. "I will return for the festival."

I leave, my thoughts tumbling, disturbed. This civil war, this Bakumatsu, affects everyone, even the innocent, and I cannot escape it. I cannot escape what I must do this moon deprived night, just as I haven't been able to flee every other.

Fukuoka Tanaka should have arrived at the inn three hours ago and his ship departs in five. That leaves me two hours to find him and complete the assignment. Another task, another layer of blood upon my crusted sword.

The streets are empty. The war has people so frightened that those who haven't already abandoned their homes lock themselves inside and keep the lanterns turned low. I move easily through the shadows and meet no one.

I come to the inn marked on Shigure's map. There is a sign nailed to the main entrance: Current Tenants Only. So, Fukuoka had it all planned from the beginning in case he was caught. According to Shigure's sources, he is staying in one of the inner rooms, a way to protect himself. His strategy will not work against me.

Silently, I creep to the back entrance. No one guards it as this inn has tried to remain neutral and indifferent to either group. I slide the rice paper wall aside and slip past, toeing off my sandals because my footprints would dirty the freshly-cleaned floors. I dislike soiling this inn any more than I already will.

The other tenants are asleep, which benefits me. In and out. Job completed. That is how I do my tasks. I come to the entry of his room and am surprised to find it cracked open. I unsheathe my katana with practiced silence and ready it at my side. If Fukuoka is awake I shall have to strike swiftly.

I regulate my breathing and peer through the crack. The room is dark but I can see the faint outline of my target and he is thankfully asleep. I can make this quick and painless.

But as my eyes adjust, I make out the deadly sliver of a drawn katana aimed perpendicular to the man's throat. Another . . . assassin? I throw back the entry with a raspy, echoing clap. A beam of light falls across the room, revealing a pale face and mop of scarlet hair. His head jerks up and steel golden eyes meet mine, startled yet still caught up in the moment.

I understand the fever I see there, the deadened haze that comes before murder. He was ready to take that man's life, just as I had been. The assassin's eyes drift to my naked blade and then snap back to mine. I stare at him; he stares at me; and we both know we are here for the same purpose.

My noise has awakened the other tenants and lanterns are lit, tossing more light on us. Voices crowd the hallways. I cannot be caught . . .

Fukuoka wakes up, eyes frantically searching the room. I grip my katana and start forward, but the redheaded assassin raises his own sword and smoothly thrusts the blade through the man's throat. Fukuoka gurgles, dull blood leaking between his slack lips. His body jerks, relaxes, and he is dead. The assassin twists the sword once and pulls it out; a flick, blood splatters the floor, and it is sheathed all in one fluid motion. It is the mark of a Hitokiri – that same movement I completed done time and time again.

People are coming nearer. The redhead studies me, his eyes empty of any previous emotion. I must leave . . . but he has seen me . . . and he has to be weighing the same question in his mind. He listens, the voices are too close, and we are already caught by each other.

He breaks the stalemate by swiftly gliding toward me. My hand tightens on the hilt but he only brushes past, his dark blue gi rustling with his graceful movements. His golden eyes bore into mine and for a single flicker they turn violet.

And then he is running down the hall. I take a quick look at Fukuoka's body, and follow.

***

The women's shrieks split the night, resounding in my ears as we escape the inn. No one sees us.

It is raining now, large droplets that patter upon my face and hair. The redheaded assassin is fast, as fast as I am. He ducks under a cloth tarp. I slow, unsure what to do, and he is there, holding the tarp aside so I can enter the lit storage room filled with sacks of rice.

The rain has thoroughly soaked me and I hear the storm grow rough outside. I am breathing somewhat heavily from the close call I just experienced, and I notice that he is doing the same. His head is bowed, rainwater dripping off the scarlet strands, and he is must shorter than me, thin and pale. I wonder his age. He must be no more than fifteen, two years my junior.

"Who are you?" he rasps, not looking at me.

In these times it is dangerous to give one's name. I am a Hitokiri, a killer among the shadows. My name means nothing.

"Are you friend or foe?" I ask, not offering an answer. My skills are among the best and I do not boast, but I saw the manner in which he held his sword. Toki waits for me to return and I cannot afford to battle with this boy.

"I've no friends," he replies, lifting narrowed eyes, golden like no other I have seen.

"Then how–" I cut myself off and bite my foolish tongue. My mind has turned too philosophical lately and here I am about to share my own notions with . . . with someone whose eyes reflect the same pain I feel every waking moment.

"What? Then how what?" he demands. No, his voice is too quiet for that. He asks me, his steady gaze piercing, cautious, his body language telling me he would rather be anywhere except here in this shed.

Yet he has opened a window and I continue. "How do you get past each night?"

His eyes flair the violet color, startled out of their narrowed intensity. "Who are you?" he says again, this time very much demanding. "You carry a sword and did not try to stop me from killing. You followed me here, knowing full well that I am capable of manslaughter."

Why? Why doesn't he attack me? I am disturbed to discover that, had the circumstances been reversed, I would have not have hesitated back at the inn.

"And you?" I counter heatedly. "You did not run your full speed."

"Leave now." He feels threatened by my words. Or does he react with anger because he does not know the answer . . .

I should leave. Fukuoka is dead and I have no reason to be here. I should leave now and never know which side of the war he fights for, never know whether we are enemies.

Using the back of my hand, I lift the heavy tarp. The houses and streets are slick with the pounding rain and lightening streaks the black sky. I whisper half to myself, "At this moment, one cannot even tell we are at war. The rain washes everything away."

He comes and stands next to me, so close that I am touched by his warmth. "Some stains are never fully washed away. But yes, it cleanses most."

I turn my head to offer a smile and it promptly fades. For the first time, I see him in profile. I see what his unruly hair hid before. A long, crossed scar mars his left cheek. He catches me staring and his hand inches toward his hilt. I make no move. The corners of my lips curve upward and I do not mask the sadness in my gaze.

"It is unfair," I tell him. "That I know who you are and you do not know me. I am Takatsuki Gentatsu. His eyes widen, still violet. He recognizes the name. "Since the Ishin had you assassinate Fukuoka Tanaka, I suspect they discovered his doubled treason."

"And the Aizu," he states. "They also learnt of it?"

"Yes."

"I see." He asks no more questions about our chosen sides and I no more of him.

The pattering raindrops grow sparser and become a light drizzle. "The storm has passed," I comment.

He nods minutely.

Hitokiri Battousai. The man who slays with his sword. But he appears to be not a man at all, a boy caught in a situation he cannot escape.

Am I not the same? If I bent and saw my face reflected by a puddle, my eyes would carry the same tortured pain. It is the same pain I see in his eyes, in many men's eyes, in Shigure's eyes when we are alone.

"How do you sleep?" I wonder, before realizing he may be offended.

He hides it well if he is. "I have remembrances." He does not elaborate and I do not press him. "And you?"

"I don't," I say. "Not often. But those I love . . . I think of them." My comrades, weak though they may be. Shigure, my leader and friend. Toki . . .

The rain has completely ceased. I step out of the shed and the Battousai follows me. The sound of running men approach us from down one street.

"Go," he says. "And I will not fight you."

Nor will I. Had we met as enemies, we would have had no choice.

The Ishin Shishi are coming and I must hurry. I try to think up an appropriate farewell and instead say nothing. I dip my head and start to slip away.

"You do not know who I am," he says behind me. "But since you gave your name freely, I'll give you mine. Himura Kenshin."

He vanishes into the darkness, a fellow boy-man carrying a sword. I know I am lucky to be alive; from tonight I can sense his swordsmanship far surpasses mine.

My thoughts are jumbled and wild as I make my way back to the Aizu's current house. I wonder what I fight for and what _he_ fights for. Not glory or wealth . . . Does he want peace? Does he kill for peace? Do I?

I imagine him standing over a washbowl, plunging his hands into the icy water, watching as the blood streaks the liquid pink. He scrubs his hands repeatedly, rawly, and the blood of others keeps staining and staining. And then I am him and those are my hands and I am scrubbing . . .

_Some stains are never fully washed away._

I sit awake until morning and hope our paths do not cross again.

It was as boy-men that we first met each other. A second encounter . . .

***

Shigure is expecting my report. I go to meet him on a bridge overlooking the river, where the water is bright and shiny. I look down into the blue expanse. There is blue above and below me and it seems like I am swimming among endless sparkles.

I was not the one who assassinated Fukuoka, but I would have. My hands are sticky with his warm blood. Battousai . . . Himura . . . he said had memories that kept him going day after day. Yet . . . how can memories be enough to sustain a killer of men?

"What's wrong, Gentatsu?"

Shigure must have been watching me. I was so immersed in my thoughts that I did not hear or sense him approach. Is it my tense shoulders that give me away, one hand ready to grab my hilt?

"I could not sleep," I tell him. "The people I have slain had mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, someone they loved. When I think of that . . ."

"Gentatsu . . ."

"I know." I wrestle against a sigh. Shigure understands me more than anyone else. He understands best what I do at night and . . . he often refuses to see the war how I see it. He wants to accomplish his goals and will put aside everything in order to do that. He is carrying a folded piece of brown paper and I ask, "What does the letter from your family say?"

His voice is emotionless as he speaks and I can tell his mind is elsewhere. "My father has become ill again. But I can't worry about him now. With the Choshu troops on the move–"

"You are wrong, Shigure." You are wrong to hide your concern. I care for you, don't you see? You are the brother I never had. You are killing yourself with this more than I ever could myself with nightmares. "Maybe it is because Toki is my only blood relative, maybe that is why I feel this way. But it is best to never forget the love for a parent or the one you love most. If you cannot be a man in that, then you do not dare call yourself a leader."

I have wounded him, I can tell from his expression, his clenched jaw. Still, he listens. "The reason I am known as Hitokiri," I say, softer, "and continue to swing a sword is for them; our comrades, your family, and Toki. I do it so they may have a peaceful life."

He does not respond. His eyes glaze over and the show of emotion surprises me. "Gentatsu." His voice is thick.

I turn and face him fully. "Promise me something."

"Yes, of course."

"If anything happens to me, please take care of Toki." My only wish of him. I lower my gaze, unable to take the pain storming in his. I do not miss his answer.

"I swear it."

"Thank you."

The moment passes and we are once again Aizu clan members.

"Gentatsu," he says, controlled and pointed.

"Fukuoka Tanaka is dead," I report. "I was not seen by any of the tenants."

"Good. No tasks tonight, nor until after the festival as far as I can tell." He glances around us, steps closer, and lowers his voice. "Between you and me, there is a rumor going around that the leaders of the Ishin Shishi are planning something large. What that is, I am still trying to find out."

I suck in a breath. "They would never."

"That is what I also determined. I thought you should know, in case."

In case . . . in case we fight against them. In case I must again enter the night as a Hitokiri.

***

1866, Keiou 2

Six months go by. Fall gives way to winter and winter collapses into spring. Shigure's father passes away and my friend never speaks of him again. Toki celebrates her fourth birthday. During those months my heart is heavy. The fighting has increased and my skills are called upon more often.

It is on one particular cold night that I catch another glimpse of those golden eyes. Shigure has called a conference between our groups of the Aizu clan and Kajiki, a fellow clansman, and I race toward the hideout. The darkness conceals our movements as we slip through the shadows. It will take us fifteen minutes to arrive.

Kajiki glances at me. I have known him for several years and trust the man, but there is something about him that I have never liked. "Oi, Gentatsu, I hear you kill two, three men a night now."

That is true. I ignore him with practiced ease since he is known for his sharp tongue.

"So quick," he murmurs. "One slash and they're dead." He grins. "Though I must comment that your best work was the number you did on the fool Fukuoka. A clean hole right through the neck. Impressive."

"I find nothing good about murder," I bite out. Inside I am devastated. I had not wanted to remember that night so vividly since it happened months ago.

"Calm down," he says. "I meant no harm, just complimenting you. After all, killing is what you do best, is it not?"

My stomach tightens. Is that my only purpose in life? To kill my enemies? I do not know what bothers me so much about Kajiki's words. I detest the fact that the answer may be yes . . . and I also cringe that he admires not my work but the work of a boy of whom I told no one.

"Stop." I hold out my arm and block him. I sense people nearby, a group in the alley adjacent to this one.

"What is it?" Kajiki hisses.

"Ishin." I listen to their footsteps. "Three of them." I back us against the wall, mere yards from the other alley. We haven't time to go back the other way we came and I will not attack enemies with unknown capabilities. Kajiki grabs the hilt of his sword and I throw him a glare. "Not here."

He growls but concedes. We hide, pressed to the cold wood, and presently we can hear their voices.

"This is impossible!" says one man. "Even with Sakamoto as our intermediary, the Satsuma clan will never agree to this meeting."

"They already have," answers a second, directing the other two. "We are on our way there now."

"Katsura-san!" the other protests.

Kajiki tenses beside me and I unconsciously flex my right hand. Kogoro Katsura of the Choshu?

"We don't have a choice to be there tonight," Katsura continues angrily. "But whether or not I will actually form an alliance with Takamori Saigo is still debatable."

The three men reach our hiding place and pass. First, an average samurai. Then Katsura himself, tall, long-haired. And thirdly–

The Battousai has not spoken a word and keeps his battle ki completely sealed. I am startled to see him. His presence is unmistakable, his hair bleeding into the night, his boyish form slender and almost delicate. As he passes, his eyes flit once and land on me, and return to staring straight ahead.

They are long gone by the time I find my voice again. "Go and find Shigure," I instruct Kajiki. "Tell him and the others to come to the stronghold outside Kyoto."

Kajiki fists his hands. "Are you mad? We just let Kogoro Katsura slip right by us!"

"Tell Shigure about the Satsuma and Choshu. Do it!" I bark.

With a glare, he takes off.

***

Several hours later, Shigure finally comes to the small stronghold where we are gathered. He is out of breath, his eyes a mixture of alarm and excitement, his face calm as always.

"I heard the Satsuma and Choshu are making an alliance," he says, looking directly at me. I sit against the far wall as I have been since I arrived. "Is it true, Gentatsu?"

The Battousai – Himura – why did he disregard us? Anger surges within me, hot and fluid. Am I that weak to him?

I raise my head, eyes hardened. "Yes, I am positive. They are holding a secret meeting about it tonight." Shigure kneels before me as I speak. "They will do anything to destroy the Tokugawa Shogunate." I stare down at the thatched floor and relate what I saw. "The attendees will be Takamori Saigo of the Satsuma and Kogoro Katsura of the Choshu."

The men whisper amongst themselves, awe-struck. Even Shigure is shocked. "Saigo and Katsura?" he repeats incredulously. "Impressive meeting."

Kajiki smirks. "Sakamoto Ryoma will serve as the intermediary."

"All the leaders of the rebellion in one place, one night . . ."

I must put that boy out of my mind. This is it. This is what we have waited for. "If we can attack them, we can alter the flow of history." The Bakumatsu will end. Toki will be safe . . .

Shigure ponders our situation. I should tell him the Battousai will be there, but I cannot. I cannot.

"Well, where will they meet?"

Kajiki spreads a map across the floor. "We have narrowed it down to three different places. We considered Masuda-ya, which the Satsuma use regularly. But the Shinsen Gumi are guarding that place, so it won't be there."

"The most likely places are Suzu-ya and the lumberyard at Minoda," I say, voice flat.

"Those are quite far from eacho other," Kajiki points out. "Which is why we cannot decide where to go."

The three of them had been headed in a particular direction . . . "I think it is Suzu-ya," I say.

Shigure disagrees instantly. "No, Suzu-ya has very few escape routes around it. They would never choose a dangerous location like that." The men cheer him on. "I've decided on Minoda. Let's go."

He is wrong. My heart tells me this. I hang back as we exit. The Ishin did not choose the lumberyard.

Shigure stops. "What is it, Gentatsu?"

They chose Suzu-ya because . . . "I cannot ignore my instincts. I am going to Suzu-ya."

"Gentatsu."

Because . . . "It is just a strong feeling," I assure him. "If I am wrong, I will join you immediately."

He studies me, searching for any hidden emotion. He won't find it. "I understand," he says finally. "If that is how you feel. Sakurai, Asami, Yokata, take your groups with him."

"Ho!"

I give him a slight bow. "I am sorry." Forgive me, my friend.

We run to the road and sprint in opposite directions, him to Minoda and I to Suzu-ya.

The Ishin Shishi chose Suzu-ya because they have nothing to fear. Battousai is with them.

***

We run in silence except for the sounds of our sandals slapping the ground. I had imagined him scrubbing the blood from his hands, and tonight . . . will it be my blood?

No! I must live. For Toki, for what I stand for. He has his memories to keep him going but for me it is my future.

The Suzu-ya can be seen through the bamboo trees, candle light glittering across the rice paper walls. We appear out of the darkness, phantoms ready to slaughter our enemies. They await my signal. I crouch, the familiar weight of my sword against my hip, calloused fingers ready to strike.

The lights go out.

_Now._

We attack, running with all our speed. I rip my cloak from my shoulders and toss it aside. Armed men emerge from the building and our two sides collide in a flurry of metal and flesh. My blade slides through them as I cut a path. I must get inside.

Around me, the battle is already almost over. The men are evenly matched and it becomes a massacre, men killing men. I straighten and flick away the blood. I am almost the only one left standing. My anger boils within me. My men are dying, their life soaking the grass.

From the house he emerges and cuts down two of my men effortlessly. Then he stands there, sword red-stained, and pauses with one socked foot resting on the step.

I feel a rage I have never felt before. What is it that you fight for, Battousai? I want to shout. You have nobody to live for and yet you still remain in my way! He merely stares, eyes that narrowed golden color, as empty as I am.

My teeth ground together and I brandish my sword; he responds with the same. Come then, boy-man, I am your enemy.

_Some stains are never fully washed away. But yes, it cleanses most._

My last man falls dead.

Giving a harsh battle cry, I leap into the air and our swords clash. Our muscles strain against each other's strength, struggling to overcome, to win; our faces are inches apart.

His eyes are violet.

_I have remembrances._

He pushes me away or I shove him back, I cannot tell, and he advances again. Why? Why do you fight? My sword slashes horizontally with all the speed I can muster.

_I've no friends._

_Then how–_

He is already gone. I slice through several bamboo shoots, their cracking echoing in the field, sounding like gunshots.

_Then how do you get past each night?_

My throat clenches and I gasp for a breath, any breath. Slowly, I turn and look over my shoulder. He seems to fly, sword arm crossed over his left, hand stretched toward me. His form is outlined by the moon, the full bright moon, and the darkness behind it seems to extend into eternity.

_The sky must be . . . must be . . . must be forever . . ._

I twist my blade up to try and counter his attack. He strikes, an explosion of pain and color, and lands soundlessly beside me. Even if I so wish, I cannot meet his eyes. What would I find in them? Would they be empty, deadened, emotionless?

"Takatsuki Gentatsu," he whispers.

Or would I discover they mirror what is always found in mine?

My blade snaps into pieces, and the cloth wound across my forehead splits. A trickle of blood flows between my brows, and then . . .

As I fall, I see beneath the masks he wears and the thick shield of scarlet hair. I see it during the single, tiny moment before he closes his eyes, my blood carving a path along his scarred cheek. I see it in those violet depths . . . pain, pure pain.

And I understand.

My lifeblood pours from my body and I can no longer move. I hear the whisper of his blade, the click as he sheaths it. He calmly begins to walk into the night, heading wherever he is going, but there is a falter among his step.

_I have remembrances._

And finally, I close my eyes.

  


*owari*

  


1. One thing that really struck me in RK was how Kenshin always remembered people's names. In the Kyoto arc, he actually *SPOILER* asks Cho the names of Yumi and Shishio's right hand man (name?) in order to remember them. It seems to me that that was one way Kenshin managed to keep going. He felt that by remembering everyone that he killed, he could eventually atone for their deaths. It was like he owed them and filled that debt by carrying their memory along with him. Or maybe that's just me reading to much into it. ^_^

2. I don't know exactly the rank between Gentatsu, Shigure, and Kajiki. Shigure seemed to be the main leader and everyone took his orders above all. I figured Gentatsu would come next, being more skilled (can Kajiki fight at all?) and then the man with the wild eyebrows.

3. One thing I really couldn't understand was why Gentatsu seemed so pissed off in the movie during his fight with Kenshin. Did anyone else notice this? He hissed and killed and seemed as cold as Battousai. Maybe it's that whole Hitokiri-mode thing. In the other flashbacks, especially the conversations with Shigure, he seems like such a pleasant boy. Which brings me to my other point...

4. How old is Gentatsu? Here I placed him at about 17. We know that Kenshin was only 15 or so (I know we're told the exact age but I don't remember) and Gentatsu looks about the same when they're together, maybe a little older. So when Gentastu referred to Kenshin as a boy-man, he was also always referring to himself too.

Whew. Ok. I think I'm glad this fic is over. It only took me three days to write. A new record for slow-as-a-snail Arishia. ^_^


End file.
